


March 2016

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 Challenge: 2016 [3]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, POV Outsider, Sexting, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-26 12:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 10,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13857645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 challenge ficlets for the month of March.





	1. Sixty-One: Black T-Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t even know the damn thing’s in his bag until he’s trying to find a clean pair of socks, three weeks after he makes it to California.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for today was "black t-shirt" and I enjoy Stanford-flavoured suffering, so!

He doesn’t even know the damn thing’s in his bag until he’s trying to find a clean pair of socks, three weeks after he makes it to California. Doesn’t think much of it when it catches his eye, a familiar sight- occurs to him a moment later that it’s a little too familiar for his new life and digs it out with a vice around his heart.

The t-shirt is old and faded, black fabric soft with years of wear and a thousand washes. Even now, Sam figures he hasn’t outgrown it- it was always big on Dean, anyways, and the thought just has his eye burning with tears he desperately doesn’t want to shed.

It’s his big brother’s old Led Zeppelin shirt, his go-to for comfort and safety. The one he let Sam wear whenever he was away with their dad on a hunt because it made him feel a little less lonely and a little less scared.

The one Sam most definitely did  _not_ pack, and the one he can only imagine that Dean must’ve snuck into his bag for him.

Sam moves to the edge of the bed slowly, original goal forgotten as he sits. Doesn’t think a whole lot as he eventually curls up on his side, buries his nose in the shirt’s fabric and breathes in the scent of home.

He hasn’t cried yet since leaving his family, but it’s hard not to start now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. Sixty-Two: Meeting

Dean knows he’s not supposed to check his phone right now. He  _knows._ He’s in the middle of a budget meeting, and Mike is droning on and on about numbers he should care about…

But his phone buzzes  _again_ in its holster and he really can’t bring himself to ignore it anymore.

He sinks a little lower in his seat, eyes darting up to the front of the room where Mike’s gesturing to some pie chart on the projector screen so Dean figures he can check his texts without too much fear of getting caught. It doesn’t make him any less paranoid as he carefully pulls it out, cupping it between his hands under the table like he’s in high school all over again.

There are three new texts, all from Sam- Sam who can text whenever he wants, Dean thinks with just a touch of bitterness, but then, he also has to work in a cubicle, so maybe that’s a fair trade-off- and Dean allows himself a tiny smile before straightening his features again. Don’t get caught.

The first one is simple enough. 

_You busy?_

Not that Sam doesn’t know he’s got this meeting today- he’s certainly complained about it enough- but Dean moves on. 

_I’ll take that as a no, sir. ;)_

The title and emoticon put Dean on guard, though, and he squints slightly. The next message has a picture attached, and he sneaks a glance at the other people in the room- still occupied with the dull presentation- before tapping  _download._

It only takes a couple seconds of loading before the picture pops up, full-screen,and Dean’s eyes widen as heat rises to his cheeks.

It is, unmistakably, Sam’s dick.

He’s wearing those goddamn khakis, unzipped just enough for him to have pulled it out. His hand’s wrapped around the base, and it’s reddened and hard, just a drop of precome right at the tip.

Dean swallows thickly and shifts a little in his seat.

The feeling of his phone vibrating again nearly makes him jump, and he looks up guiltily, barely manages to exhale with relief when he sees that no one’s watching him. Peeks down at his phone again to read the message.

_Hope I’m not distracting you._

Dean bites his lip and slowly, carefully, types out his response.

_My office. Lunch._

Sam’s reply is almost instant.

_I sure hope you don’t plan on eating._

“Smith? You alright?”

Dean  _does_ jump this time, nearly drops his phone as he looks up, finds a couple sets of eyes on him. Mike’s paused, eyebrow raised, and Dean clears his throat as he sinks a little lower in his seat. He’s sure he’s red up to the tips of his ears and that’s not even accounting for the tent in the front of his pants, thankfully hidden by the table.

“Fine. Sorry, just… tuned out for a second.”

No one looks terribly convinced, but he’s got a big enough paycheck that no one questions him further.

Dean spends the rest of the meeting desperately trying not to think about the pictures that Sam continues to send him. He’ll have lots of time to worry about that at lunch.


	3. Sixty-Three: Stream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The last twelve months of my life… have been the best twelve months of my life. Um- so for that, thank you. Love yourself first. Always keep fighting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After one of Jared's streams that made me emotional. Just a soft J2 thing.

“The  _last_ twelve months of my life… have been the  _best_ twelve months of my life. Um- so for that, thank you. Love yourself first. Always keep fighting.”

Half a smile and the live stream ends with a tap to his screen. Jared breathes out slow, heart still beating hard and fingers shaking a little as he sets his phone down. 

It’s always like this when he finishes up, leaves him with a cocktail of giddy excitement and nerves that’ll usually have him pacing for a few minutes to try to calm down. He’s getting better at it, but it’s still hard putting himself out there- even as the comments keep rolling in, fans showering him with love.

The sound of someone opening his trailer door isn’t entirely unexpected, but it still makes him jump a little before he turns. Relaxes minutely when he sees Jensen stepping inside and tries not to look as wired as he feels.

“Hey,” Jared says, and he sounds a little too breathless. Clears his throat to try to correct it. “Uh- you catch the stream?”

“Most of it, yeah.” Jensen smiles, lets the door close behind him as he heads over. “It was good. Really good, Jay.”

“Yeah?” He perks up a little bit, some of his anxiety easing with the reassurance. “You don’t think it was- I don’t know, too long, or too personal, or too-”

“Hey.” Jensen steps a little closer, then, and Jared doesn’t realize he’s been shifting around in place until he stops with his friend’s hand on his shoulder. “It was perfect. I’m proud of you, man.”

A few seconds meeting Jensen’s eyes, and Jared lets out a big whoosh of air, letting the rest of his tension drain out of him. The stream’s done, the campaign is live, and the fans are happy. Everything’s good right now, and Jensen’s here, and he can relax. Couldn’t even think of avoiding the hug that comes his way, and wraps his arms tight around Jensen in return, closing his eyes.

“You did good, buddy,” Jensen says, voice a little softer. “They’re gonna love it.”

Jared smiles into his best friend’s shoulder and hugs him a little tighter. That much, he can believe in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. Sixty-Four: Asthma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year ago, he’d have been able to make this run, easy. A dead sprint after a shifter on the run in the dead of night. A rainstorm, an empty road. Worn soles against slick pavement that blurs into a hundred jobs before this.
> 
> Of course, a year ago, Dean’s lungs were working exactly the way they’re supposed to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small thing about Dean having asthma. And being bad at taking care of himself. H/C with a whole lot of H.

A year ago, he’d have been able to make this run, easy. A dead sprint after a shifter on the run in the dead of night. A rainstorm, an empty road. Worn soles against slick pavement that blurs into a hundred jobs before this.

Of course, a year ago, Dean’s lungs were working exactly the way they’re supposed to work. 

It hits him slowly, breaths coming shorter as his body stops accepting the oxygen. He tries to push past it, to ignore the rising panic and the burning in his muscles and the tight feeling in his chest, but then he’s stumbling to a stop, trips over his own feet and goes down hard to his knees. Watches the shifter keep going and feels himself tearing up, lips parted as he tries to force his lungs to expand.

Dean doesn’t know how much time passes like that. It’s terrifying, losing control of his body. Feeling the way something closes up and refuses to get the air where it needs to be. It’s got him shaking, fingers clenching and scrabbling at the ground in vain, and by the time Sam finally catches up, he feels a lot like he’s dying.

Sam’s the one who tries to press the puffer into his hand, ultimately giving up and just nudging the little mouthpiece between his lips. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, listens to his brother whisper “with me, okay?” before taking a deep breath. Dean follows along and feels the cool sensation when Sam presses down, feels his airways open up as the air finally makes it all the way down to his lungs.

They go on like that for a few minutes, Sam talking him through every breath, holding him up when he slumps over. Doesn’t say a word when a couple tears slip free or when Dean hits the pavement a couple times, frustration and anger and shame bubbling up and over.

“We’ll find him,” Sam whispers later, his arms tight around Dean. They’re back at the motel, dried off and done for the night. They’re fresh out of leads and Dean knows he screwed this up. There’s no telling what face the thing’s going to be wearing tomorrow. “It’s okay, Dean.”

It feels like the opposite of okay, but Dean closes his eyes and breathes in slow. Feels Sam surrounding him and tries to push away the fear that persists at the back of his mind, the little voice whispering that every one of his breaths will probably be his last. That next time he inhales, his lungs will decide he’s been too lucky for too long and stop working all over again.

Dean’s not sure how long he can live like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. Sixty-Five: Shifter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memories always hit the shifter like a freight train but Dean Winchester’s are in a league all their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever emo about shifter!Dean.

The memories always hit the shifter like a freight train but Dean Winchester’s are in a league all their own.

Self-loathing is no stranger but it isn’t comparable to the gut-wrenching hatred that’s creeping into his psyche. Split-second frames flicker past his vision, fire-Chevy-hunter-Dad-Sammy-Sammy- _Sammy_ that tell bits and pieces of a story he doesn’t understand. There’s jealousy and anger and a deep sense of hurt that he can’t quite grasp, betrayal and abandonment that sink their claws into a heart that shouldn’t belong to him.

“Fuck,” he whispers without warning, because he’s claimed the skin as his own for the moment but the baggage inside makes it hard to focus on much of anything. 

Across every emotion, every feeling that’s flooding his senses as his mind struggles to keep up with the new persona being forced down his throat, there’s one constant he clings to. There are hazel eyes and dimples and someone who looks at him with unwavering adoration, who calls him  _big brother_ and who composes the entirety of his world.

Someone he wants to protect and someone he wants to hold and someone he doesn’t know how to live without.

He is becoming Dean Winchester whether he likes it or not, and he doesn’t know if he can carry this weight on his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. Sixty-Six: Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I never loved you._
> 
> The words are poison running through his veins, a weight on his chest that makes it hard to breathe and impossible to think about them. He’s driving, hands on the wheel and eyes unfocused because all he can see are those yellow eyes in his mother’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DSotM fucked me up in so many ways.

_I never loved you._

The words are poison running through his veins, a weight on his chest that makes it hard to breathe and impossible to think about them. He’s driving, hands on the wheel and eyes unfocused because all he can see are those yellow eyes in his mother’s face.

_You were my burden._

Maybe he never should have been born, after all. Maybe it would’ve been better that way. Who’s to say he’s doing any good at all when the person who was supposed to love him the most hated him all along?

Someone’s talking, but he can’t quite bring himself to listen. 

It’s raining outside.

_I was shackled to you. Look where it got me._

“Dean.” Sam sounds scared in the passenger’s seat and Dean’s first instinct is to comfort him. Tell him that everything’s alright and that they’ll get through this, like they always do. That they’ll find a way to survive this mess, together.

_Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed?_

“Dean.”

_Mommy._

“C’mon, man, look at me or something.”

_Daddy._

“You’re kinda freaking me out.”

_Even Sam._

“Dean!”

Dean blinks, eyes drifting back into focus. Realizes he’s in the oncoming lane and wonders whether or not to be thankful for the deserted road before tilting the wheel and sending them back onto the right side. “What?”

Quiet. He glances over and Sam’s got that soft, worried look that’s got Dean’s hackles rising. “I’m not an abused puppy, Sam.  _What?_ ”

“You don’t… want to talk about that?” Sam gestures towards the roof of the car. “All that? Joshua, Zachariah. God… Mom?”

“Leave it alone.” Looks back at the road and clenches his jaw. Forces soft blonde curls out of his mind because they’re bitter right now, don’t fit into the space in his heart where his mother lives. “Just forget it.”

Sandwiches with the crust cut off are a little softer around the edges. As Sam falls quiet and Dean continues driving, he can almost pretend like the memory feels the same as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. Sixty-Seven: Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> your brother’s lips are on the back of your neck and it feels like nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... a depression-fuelled thing. You can read it as Sam's POV or Dean's. It's just. An attempt to hit on that void-y feeling that's so much fun to experience.

your brother’s lips are on the back of your neck and it feels like nothing at all.

you know you’re worrying him. the way he holds you, the mumbled comforts he tries to offer. you have nothing with which to set him at ease- no words, no smiles. getting out of bed is a burden you choose not to bear, and you wonder if it’s all really worth it.

“whatever you need,” he whispers, and there’s something aching in his voice, and you close your eyes. “please. just let me help.”

there’s nothing he can do for you and you just want to sleep forever.

but still, he holds you. he brings you water and feeds you crackers from his fingertips so you don’t waste away into nothing.

it’ll pass. you know it’ll pass, the heavy feeling that dulls the world around you. makes it hard to think or breathe or live because even his hands petting down your arms, his legs tangled in yours aren’t enough to pull you out of this listless emptiness.

it’ll pass. he holds you and loves you and you know it’ll pass.

you’re not sure you can decide if those moments of freedom are worth this hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :>


	8. Sixty-Eight: Kicking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If she was kicking, you would know.” Tilts her head back to press a kiss to the line of his jaw. “’Cause I’d be complaining about it. I think she’s finally taking a nap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little SamJess thing wherein they actually get to be happy and stuff.

“Is she kicking now?”

Sam’s voice is a low murmur in her ear, soft and playful. Jessica leans back into him, looks down at her boyfriend’s hands where they rest, fingers splayed wide on her rounded belly. Rests her hands on top of his and smiles to herself.

“If she was kicking, you would know.” Tilts her head back to press a kiss to the line of his jaw. “’Cause I’d be complaining about it. I think she’s finally taking a nap.”

“Lucky us.”

“I think it’s your voice. Puts her right down.”

Sam chuckles and hugs her a little tighter, and Jessica lets her eyes slip shut as he kisses the spot right behind her ear. “Is that a good thing?”

“Definitely a good thing.” She hums softly, nods. “C’mon, I want to sit. You can obsess over my belly in bed.”

“Oh, I intend to.” He’s already pulling her in that direction, though, tugs her right down into his lap. “In bed, out of bed, at the store, by the bus stop…”

“I’ve noticed.”

That doesn’t stop her from curling up in Sam’s arms when he pulls her down onto the bed properly, as best she can with her belly as big as it’s gotten. Sam’s warm, and his hands on her skin are always a comfort. “I’m taking a nap.”

“I’ll be here.”

She smiles a little as she closes her eyes. The baby’s still quiet and Sam’s warm at her back, and she figures she can’t get much happier than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. Sixty-Nine: Gears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s sitting casually, legs kicked up over one of the chair’s arms, the ruffles of her skirt barely brushing the floor. Loose golden curls spill over her shoulders, pinned back from her face with an old pair of work goggles that match her corset in copper tones. She tilts her head when Sam meets her eyes, purses her lips. Smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream that was all steampunky, and it made me want SamJess, and this is the result.

The room is decadent, to say the least. Brass and copper piled high along either wall, countless treasures and trinkets for which Sam has no name. As hard as he tries to keep his eyes forward while the pair of guards prod him along, they’re constantly drawn to the décor, gears clicking and clocks ticking. It’s fascinating, and he’s sure his brother would give his left arm for a chance to poke around in a place like this.

He has to look up as they approach the end of the walkway, and he’s pulled to a stop several feet short of a raised portion of the floor. He follows the steps with his eyes, finds a throne gilded in shades of gold and a young woman who occupies its space.

She’s sitting casually, legs kicked up over one of the chair’s arms, the ruffles of her skirt barely brushing the floor. Loose golden curls spill over her shoulders, pinned back from her face with an old pair of work goggles that match her corset in copper tones. She tilts her head when Sam meets her eyes, purses her lips. Smiles.

“Most people don’t have the balls to try to steal from me.” Sounds amused and intrigued in her wind-chimes voice and Sam takes a half-step forward before he can stop himself. The woman gives a little flick of her wrist, and the guards back off. “What makes you so special, little gearhead?”

Dean’s the gearhead of their family and Sam isn’t exactly little by anyone’s standard, but he decides to keep those thoughts to himself. “Maybe I’ve just got more balls than you’re used to, darlin’.” Keeps his chin high and reminds himself that it’s worth it. “Doesn’t seem very charitable of you to keep all this shit locked up just for you.”

She smiles, then, even sits up a little straighter. Waves her hand and Sam hears the guards walk away. Things are quiet until their footsteps fade, and then the girl smiles bigger, more childlike. Beckons him forwards and Sam hesitates before stepping closer, stops just short of the stage.

“My name’s Jess,” she tells him, sounds too excited for someone sitting in her place. “And I haven’t met anyone interesting in  _ages.”_

Whatever his intention was when he came here, Sam sure as hell didn’t see this coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	10. Seventy: Headache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen closes his trailer door with a weary sigh, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment to let the silence seep into his skin. The day’s been too long, and his head is pounding in the aftermath of a cold, but it’s finally over, and soon enough, he’ll be able to go home for a few blessed hours of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little fluff/HC/schmoop. A friend wasn't feeling well and I wanted to cheer them up.

Jensen closes his trailer door with a weary sigh, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment to let the silence seep into his skin. The day’s been too long, and his head is pounding in the aftermath of a cold, but it’s finally over, and soon enough, he’ll be able to go home for a few blessed hours of sleep. 

It’s not entirely a surprise when the door opens again just as he’s settling down in an overstuffed chair to unwind a little before it’s time to go, and when he glances up to see Jared stepping inside, he offers the younger man a tired smile. “Hey.”

Jared just smiles at him, closes the door quietly before crossing the floor towards him. “C’mon, move over.”

A moment later, Jensen finds himself settled half on top of Jared, a steady heartbeat under his ear and a wide palm petting down the curve of his spine, slow and gentle. It’s soothing, and Jensen breathes out softly, eyes closing again. Figures he could fall asleep right here as the tension starts to ease out of his muscles.

“How ‘bout a hot bath when we get home?” Jared murmurs, lips moving against Jensen’s hair. “Bubbles, jets, scented candles. All that stuff.”

Jensen can’t help a little huff of laughter. “Only if you come, too.”

“Deal.” Jared kisses his forehead and gives him a gentle squeeze. “Couple more minutes, and we’ll get going, yeah?”

Jensen hums his agreement and lets himself melt into Jared one more time. Just a few more minutes like this. His evening’s already looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. Seventy-One: Dock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a rare moment of peace, and Dean figures he’ll take what he can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a day off to lounge around in the sun. Prompt was "dock."

It’s a rare moment of peace, and Dean figures he’ll take what he can get.

“Hold still,” Sam mumbles above him, and Dean tries and fails to do as he’s told. The sunscreen is cold on his skin under the blazing heat of the sun, and it’s hard not to wiggle around on his stomach as his brother tries to slather him up. “You’re gonna get burned, dummy.”

“Only if you don’t do a good job.”

There’s an old dock out at the edge of town, study and surprisingly clean. It leads into a lake and they’ve set themselves up a little lounging area, towels on wooden planks where they’re all ready to spend the day. Sam’s the one who insisted on the sunscreen; Dean figures after the Phoenix incident, he doesn’t want to hear Dean bitching about getting burned from head to toe.

Sam’s finished soon enough, and he lays himself out beside Dean with a sigh. Dean feels oily and warm, but decides it’s worth it as he settles down again, arms crossed under his head keeping it pillowed comfortably. “Remind me what we’ve gotta do today?”

He can hear the smile in his brother’s voice as he responds. Dad’s out of town working an easy case, and it’s summer. They deserve this little vacation. “Absolutely nothing.”

They’ve got a cooler of frozen drinks and several hours of sun left. Life is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. Seventy-Two: S'mores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Y'ever wonder how the marshmallows would taste?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something silly inspired when I had some s'mores.

“Y'ever wonder how the marshmallows would taste?”

Sam doesn’t even process the words for a few seconds. Blinks and turns to look at his brother where Dean’s silhouette is highlighted by the glow coming off the fire. He looks about as serene as someone can be while they watch a body burn down to nothing, and nothing about it explains the bizarre question. “What?”

“C'mon, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Dean looks at him, then, and there’s a bit of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, a mischievous playfulness to his expression. “All these years burning bodies, standing around to finish the job, havin’ these big-ass campfires… no way you’ve never thought about roasting some marshmallows. How d'you think they’d taste?”

It takes Sam a moment, but then the understanding hits him and he can’t help the groan he lets slip, bringing a hand up to scrub over his faces. He probably smearing himself with mud, but can’t bring himself to care. “Oh my god, Dean, why? Why was that necessary?”

Dean looks entirely too pleased with himself, grinning wide now and rocking back and forth on his heels like a five-year-old. “Toasty marshmallow with a side of golden-brown corpse,” he says cheerfully. “Family favourite.”

Sam just shakes his head, grumbling to himself and lamenting the fact that he has an older brother.

Dean laughs, and the fire’s warm (and definitely not appropriate for cooking on), and the night is weirdly, bizarrely, hilariously normal.

No one ever said their lives made any sense, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. Seventy-Three: Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s especially restless today after the morning panel, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to ignore him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling bitter after some panel where somebody called Dean an idiot, and. Idk. I'm a big fan of character bleed. 
> 
> J2 H/C, basically.

Dean’s especially restless today after the morning panel, and it’s getting increasingly difficult to ignore him.

Jensen doesn’t hide the relieved sigh he lets slip when they get back to the hotel, rubbing at his forehead like it’ll help ease the other occupant there. “Think I’m just gonna go straight to bed. I’m beat.”

Jared’s radiating concern, and Jensen nearly melts with the feeling of a hand at the base of his neck, fingertips rubbing into tense spots. “Still not feeling well?”

“S’not that.” Once his shoes are out of the way, the bed’s a welcome sight, and he barely bothers to get his jeans undone as he stumbles in that direction, flopping face-first onto the mattress. It doesn’t do much to stifle the “ _idiot”_ that’s playing over and over again at the back of his mind. “I don’t know.”

Jared’s quiet and Jensen just waits, shuffles as necessary when the other man helps him get his jeans off and ready for bed. “Was it the panel earlier?”

Of course he would get it. “You really think that’s what people think of him?” He rolls over onto his back, looks up at Jared. Dean sees his genius baby brother and is caught between being soothed and burying himself further in self-loathing. “That he’s an idiot?”

There’s a crinkle between Jared’s eyebrows that Jensen wants to smooth out with his fingers, and he gets the chance when he’s joined in bed, Jared climbing in beside him and immediately pulling him in close. Jensen doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, resting his head on Jared’s chest. It quiets Dean down a little bit. “If they do, then they’re wrong.”

Jensen nods a little bit. Closes his eyes. He knows Dean’s brilliant, but it’s hard to muddle past Dean’s lack of self-worth to see it, sometimes. To convince himself that it’s not a lie. “He doesn’t think so.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jared sighs, hugs him tighter. “But he is. And everyone who matters knows it. Sam sure does.”

It’s the most comfort he can give in these situations- when Dean gets a little too loud and it’s hard to think around his presence. Sam’s always been good at talking him down, and Jared knows that. They’ve had eleven years to figure it out, after all. “Thanks.”

“S’okay.” A kiss to his forehead, and Jensen settles down a little further. “Got a flight to catch in the morning. Let’s get to sleep.”

Jensen hums something affirmative and lets himself focus on getting ready for bed. Dean’s content enough now to sit quietly, and he he figures it’ll do for now. As long as Sam loves him, not much else matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. Seventy-Four: Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “C'mon, Dean,” Sam mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. He’s got the gun dangling from his fingers, safety locked and magazine loaded. “M'tired. Can we go home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had archery training or something at camp, and. Wrote this. Small Weechesters/Wincesty thing.

“C'mon, Dean,” Sam mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. He’s got the gun dangling from his fingers, safety locked and magazine loaded. “M'tired. Can we go home?”

“One more.” Dean holds firm, determined to finish their training for the day, but he’s gentle, too- moves up behind his little brother and puts his arms around the smaller boy. “I’ll help this time, ‘kay? One more, baby boy.”

He feels Sam take a deep breath, then he brings his arms up again, bracing himself and spreading his feet wide. Dean hugs Sam around his middle, noses just behind his ear while Sam takes aim.

“There you go,” Dean murmurs. Rests his chin on Sam’s shoulder and presses a butterfly kiss to the side of his neck. “Deep breaths. Nice and steady, yeah? Think you can hit that last can?”

“Yeah,” Sam whispers. He leans back into Dean a little, just enough to feel without affecting his balance, and Dean watches the way his face scrunches up as one eye squeezes shut. “I can do it.”

Dean breathes slow and even until Sam matches him, and he watches the safety flick off. Watches Sam’s pointer finger curl around the trigger slowly, then a little faster-

Sam doesn’t jolt much this time with the kick, Dean keeping him steady on his feet. The can’s been thrown off the wood it’s been sitting on, and Dean doesn’t try to hide his smile as he hugs Sam a little tighter.

“Was that good?” Sam asks, and there’s already excitement in his voice. “Did I do good?”

Dean grins wide, presses a couple more kisses to Sam’s neck. “Perfect, Sammy,” he whispers. “You did perfect. C'mon, let’s go home.”

Sam’s more than happy to comply, and they pack up to head back to the motel, fingers linked together and smiles on their faces. Training isn’t always a pain in the ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. Seventy-Five: Amber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s smooth in the glass, a ballerina twirl of amber liquid. Hangs easy between fingertips that are loose with the drinks he’s already had, a glint of light highlighting dark circles and red-rimmed eyes in his reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word was "amber" and I'm sad about Dean's drinking problems.

It’s smooth in the glass, a ballerina twirl of amber liquid. Hangs easy between fingertips that are loose with the drinks he’s already had, a glint of light highlighting dark circles and red-rimmed eyes in his reflection.

The habit’s deep in his bones, picked up from every male figure in his life and every faceless stranger in every dive he frequents. It’s comfort and numbness; a flicker of escape from his hellish reality and the empty feeling in his chest when he looks at his lonely passenger seat.

He’s hollow on the inside, a toy soldier left with no one to wind him up. There’s a sort of quiet warmth that comes with the glass at his lips, the burn at the back of his throat. A singular camaraderie with every tumbler he sets back down.

Dean doesn’t have anything left, really. Blurry-sick nights and headaches in the morning are the only companions he keeps.

There’s nothing reliable about drinking, but he’s not been left with much of a choice. It doesn’t make the whiskey go down any easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. Seventy-Six: White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s an odd feeling, being dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word was "white" and it made me think of the shirt Dean wears during In My Time of Dying.

It’s an odd feeling, being dead.

Well, not dead-dead. Dean knows his body is still functional, if only with the help of machines that keep his lungs working and his heart beating. He’s not  _dead,_ per se, but he’s certainly not on the mortal plane for the time being, and it’s sure as hell dead enough to think about the feeling of being dead.

Incidentally, being dead feels soft around the edges. It feels blurry, feels like non-existence where he can feel the floor under his bare feet but the tiles don’t have a discernable temperature. They simply  _are_ , no definitive sensations to pay attention to, and it’s…

Well, it’s just  _odd._

The hospital’s atmosphere doesn’t much help. It’s muted, everything painted in shades of white (walls and sheets and doctors and patients where the only spots of colour are the people suffering for their loved ones) that makes it seem. Quiet.

Sharp. But quiet.

The other thing about being dead is that it’s a little too easy to lose time. He can hear, and he can see, but Dean can’t really  _feel_ , and it’s just a matter of drifting into his own thoughts, his stress and his concerns about the demon and his dad and his little brother, and when he looks up again, hours have passed.

Being dead is a pain in the ass. Especially when all he can do is follow Sammy around and hope the kid figures it out on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. Seventy-Seven: Manip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It comes every evening at eleven o’clock on the dot, and Jensen’s starting to wonder whether it’s an automated service or if Jared’s just that punctual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very silly J2 thing.

It comes every evening at eleven o’clock on the dot, and Jensen’s starting to wonder whether it’s an automated service or if Jared’s just that punctual.

_Subject: Your Weekly Wincest Update!_

He’s not even really sure why he’d clicked on the first one to begin with. Jared’s the one who spends time digging through fan creations and showing them off; Jensen tries to stay away from it for his own good and peace of mind. Something about the images Jared manages to dig up, though, tends to have him coming back for more. If only out of morbid curiosity.

_Looks like we’re military men this time, Jen! You look good in uniform. ;)_

The picture has him letting out a breathy laugh, despite himself- not the highest resolution on the screen of his phone, but it’s not hard to make out; Jared’s wearing some sort of captain’s hat, and they’ve both got jackets and gloves on. Jensen’s jacket is unbuttoned, and- of course- they’re kissing, eyes shut, looking for all the world like nothing else in the world matters.

If he didn’t know any better, Jensen would’ve pegged them for reality. It almost feels wrong that he doesn’t know the taste of Jared’s lips.

Jensen never responds to the messages, but Jared’s yet to figure out that he’s got a folder on his phone to save every single one of the pictures.

Y’know. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. Seventy-Eight: Pearl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean, come check this out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was "pearl", so have some brothers. Wincest. Stuff.

“Dean, come check this out!”

Dean’s busy marvelling at the feeling of sand between his toes- real sand; real Californian beach sand that isn’t chock-full of pebbles or scattered shallowly over a bed of rock- but he looks up at the sound of his brother’s voice, smiles at the carefree tone. It’s one that had been entirely too absent while they were living on the road, and it’s refreshing to learn what it sounds like.

Sam’s knee-deep in the ocean, shirt abandoned somewhere on the beach and swim trunks already plastered to his skin. The sight itself is enough to catch Dean’s eye, and it takes him a moment to remember that Sam actually wants something from him. “Yeah, hold on.”

He picks his way across hot sand, entirely too pleased with the little foot massage it gives him along the way, and squints at Sam as he gets closer. His brother doesn’t offer him any clues; he’s grinning, something cupped in his hands, but it’s too small to see until Dean gets closer. “S’that a clam?”

“An oyster,” Sam corrects, unfolding his fingers a little more so Dean can see. “There lots of ‘em around here, but this one’s special.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sam grins, then goes to work prying the thing open. Dean watches, wiggles his toes in the sand at the floor of the ocean underneath them while Sam works, can’t help an amused smile when he finally manages it. “Look.”

He leans in, and it’s not hard to spot what Sam’s offering him- raises his eyebrows at the sight of the pearl sitting in the middle of the clam, whistling lowly. “Damn. You finally find the perfect pair for your earrings, Samantha?”

“Shut up.” Sam elbows him, and Dean laughs, regaining his balance without trouble. “These are hard to find, asshole.”

Dean hums, reaches out to gently brush his fingertip over the pearl. It’s smooth, not even the size of his pinkie fingernail, but pretty. “You gonna keep it?”

“That’s the plan.” There’s an excitement in Sam’s voice that has Dean smiling- it’s not like they’ve had much of a chance to gather silly little souvenirs for most of their lives. “Maybe I can start a collection.”

Dean’s smile goes soft, and he looks up. Can’t resist the impulse to lean in and brush his lips against the corner of Sam’s mouth. “You should,” he murmurs. “Make yourself a whole necklace, huh?”

Sam does laugh that time, and Dean grins and counts it as a win.

Maybe they can do this, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. Seventy-Nine: Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s soft at the edges and Dean knows that this isn’t real, but her hand is warm on his cheek and her smile is just the way it’s supposed to be. Blonde hair and loose curls and he’s just a little boy again, safe and loved when she scoops him up in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever read something you wrote a while ago and think "okay but like what the fuck though"? Because that's me right now.
> 
> This is. Um. Mary and Dean. Nightmare. Some... body-horror...?

She’s soft at the edges and Dean knows that this isn’t real, but her hand is warm on his cheek and her smile is just the way it’s supposed to be. Blonde hair and loose curls and he’s just a little boy again, safe and loved when she scoops him up in her arms. 

“There’s my little angel,” she coos, hugging her close. He loves the way he fits here, the way he can tuck his face into her neck and feel protected from the outside. Feel like scary stories are nothing but and like everything is okay. “All ready for bed?”

He wants to stay with her, but he’s in his pyjamas and he must’ve just come straight from the bathroom, skin soft and clean the way it hasn’t really been in years. He nods insteads, snuffles and curls a little closer. “Story?”

A soft laugh and she’s nodding, and Dean thanks whoever’s listening for the few extra seconds he’ll have with her. “Alright, baby. We can read a story.”

She’s getting warmer, now, as she carries him towards his room, and Dean furrows his brow. Squirms a little bit in place. Glances up and the tips of her hair are on fire between one blink and the next. Feels his heart in his throat when she smiles at him and can only think  _“please, God, not again.”_

“What’s wrong?” Smells like cooking meat as she nudges the door open and sets him down in his bed. Dean tries to cling but his fingers go right through her, and as she turns away, he spots the crimson starting to seep into her nightgown and wants to scream. “You can pick whichever book you want, Dean.”

He’s not sure when he started crying, but a sob bubbles up in his throat when she turns to face him and her skin is already bubbling off. He can’t close his eyes, can’t turn away as she smiles, skin starting to melt off of her bones. “Which one?”

“Mommy,” he whimpers, and she smiles one more time before going up in flames.

Dean wakes up crying and breathless and in the middle of a panic attack, and he almost wishes he couldn’t remember her at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	20. Eighty: Fatal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sunset bruises pressed into my throat-  
> your fingertips close my airways  
> and steal me away just how  
> you’re supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one comes from a line of dialogue in Fatal Frame 2: "since my birth, i’ve been waiting for your hands to descend upon my neck." It sounded very soulmate-ish and sad and horrible and. I liked watching that game a lot. Have a dark Wincesty thing.

sunset bruises pressed into my throat-  
your fingertips close my airways  
and steal me away just how  
you’re supposed to.

since my birth, i’ve been waiting   
for your hands to descend upon my neck-  
butterfly kisses i’ve stolen that you give back  
raindrops of sorrow shattering against my skin.

dewey-green regret and you’re hovering over me-  
(the monster you never should have loved)  
there’s a quiet understanding  
and we both know there’s no other way.

“please don’t cry, brother dearest-  
was there ever another way for this to end?”

your fingers tighten and i smile for you one last time-  
maybe you’ll remember your precious baby brother  
(instead of the monster i have become.)

_(it was always going to be you.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. Eighty-One: Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hasn’t seen the shirt in years, and he’s not sure it would even fit Sam the way his brother’s filled out. The colour hasn’t even faded noticeably, and his lips twitch into a smile as he looks at the stupid dog printed on the front of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word was "purple". Brothers, featuring the purple dog shirt.

It’s Dean’s turn to do the laundry again, and after all his procrastination, he’s not exactly sure what he’s expecting to find (not much can top the panties he’d discovered a few years back; Sam had a  _lot_ to explain with that one and Dean’s never going to let him live it down), but it surprises him all the same.

He hasn’t seen the shirt in years, and he’s not sure it would even fit Sam the way his brother’s filled out. The colour hasn’t even faded noticeably, and his lips twitch into a smile as he looks at the stupid dog printed on the front of it.

“Sammy, come check this out!”

He finds his brother in the bunker’s library, and Sam barely looks up at the sound of his footsteps. “Done already?”

“What? No.” Dean had kind of maybe walked away in the middle of his job, but whatever. This is important. “Look at this.”

He holds the shirt up, shakes it out so Sam can see the thing in all its purple glory. “Man, how long has it been since this even fit you?”

Sam’s eyebrows his hit hairline and he looks a little startled as he sets his book aside, slowly getting out of his chair. “Dude, where’d you even find this?”

“Guess it got tossed in with your laundry.” A shrug, and Dean offers the shirt out as his brother gets closer. “Why’d you even buy this, man?”

“It was on clearance.” Sam takes it from him, fingertips rubbing over the fabric with a sort of reverence. “And c’mon, look at it. How could I not buy it?”

Dean snickers. “Get it framed. It can be fancy wall-art.”

Sam rolls his eyes at that, then folds the shirt carefully before returning to his chair, setting it on the armrest. “You go ahead and frame whatever you want. Don’t you have laundry to finish?”

“Maybe.” Better get it done eventually. Dean’s not really sure what Sam intends to do with the shirt now, but shrugs it off and turns away. “You’re welcome!”

“Thanks.”

Dean spends his time wandering back to the laundry room remembering what his little brother looked like when he used to actually wear the damn shirt, and can’t help a tiny smile. Nothing if not nostalgic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. Eighty-Two: Patchwork Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when he’s driving, when his little brother is asleep against the window, when the music is playing just soft enough to melt into the purr of the engine, when the sun’s starting to set on a good day- sometimes, Dean thinks that maybe he’s lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thing inspired by Fatal Frame 2: "scraping together patchwork happiness", plus that quote that's like... "this is my family. it's little, and broken, but still good", or however that goes. Brother stuff.

Sometimes when he’s driving, when his little brother is asleep against the window, when the music is playing just soft enough to melt into the purr of the engine, when the sun’s starting to set on a good day- sometimes, Dean thinks that maybe he’s lucky.

Sure, he doesn’t have the apple-pie life he sometimes craves. Sometimes he feels like he’s barely holding it together; feels like any moment could be the one that brings everything crumbling down around him. He lives out of his car, and Sam’s the only real connection he has to another human being, and he knows more exorcisms than he knows Christmas carols, and he hasn’t really celebrated his birthday since he was back in single-digits-

He’s spent his adult life scraping together a patchworked sort of happiness, smoothing out sharp edges to build himself something worth fighting for. Something worth holding onto, and something worth living another day. It’s not much, and it doesn’t always work, and sometimes it feels like it’s slipping through his fingertips, but it’s  _his._

So Dean can look over at Sam snoring away and smile to himself and think about whatever diner they’re going to hit up the next morning. Maybe they’ll find some good food and a decent cup of coffee, and it’ll be enough to start off a good day.

He doesn’t have a whole lot, but he knows when to count his blessings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. Eighty-Three: Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re good. You’re good. Alright, I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little thing from the episode with the soul-eater. I'm still not over that scene with Sam cradling Dean and touching his head and ;-;

“Hey, hey, Dean, Dean,” Sam breathes out, still breathless after the struggle. He’s more worried about Dean’s health than his own right now, though, especially after having to fight a monster wearing his skin. He pulls his brother in close, supports him with an arm around his chest until he can feel it rising and falling the way it’s supposed to. The way it hadn’t been when the soul eater had been occupying it. “You’re good. You’re good. Alright, I’ve got you.”

Dean tenses at first, but slowly eases into his grip. Doesn’t resist as Sam rests a hand on his head, one part concern about injuries and two parts relief that he’s all in one piece. He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, catching their breath together, Dean settled back against Sam’s chest. It’s comforting in the wake of dealing with the monster, because no matter how much they do this, it never gets any easier.

“You okay?” Sam asks eventually, just soft. “Anything happen in there?”

Dean breathes out slowly and rests his head back against Sam’s shoulder. “I, uh… yeah, just. Give me a minute.” Pauses a moment. “Feels like I got hit by a truck.”

“Close.” Sam clears his throat and runs his fingers through his brother’s hair. “Uh… sorry?”

Dean’s silent for a moment before just shaking his head. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

Sam smiles tiredly and presses a kiss to Dean’s temple. “Alright.”

They’ve got some loose ends to tie up, but this was alright for a day’s work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. Eighty-Four: Compartmentalize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John still remembers the time when he did everything in his power to keep his hunting life separate from his family life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word of the day came from Covert Affairs: "compartmentalize". A little John thing.

John still remembers the time when he did everything in his power to keep his hunting life separate from his family life. He could go out and hunt a monster while the boys stayed somewhere safe with a babysitter or a family friend, and then come home and be their dad as often as he could. 

He used to know how to keep the two major facets of his life away from each other; he’d been a master of compartmentalization. These days he can’t help but mourn the loss of that simplicity, because nothing stays clean when it comes to hunting, and he’s beyond the point of being able to clean up this mess.

Dean’s too young to have ever seen a gun in person, but here he is picking off a row of cans like a seasoned professional. John thinks maybe the sickest part of it all is that he’s  _proud,_ that he’s pleased with his ten-year-old son for being such a good marksman. That one day Dean’s going to teach his little brother to be just as good and that they’ll be better for it once Sammy can defend himself.

There’s no hope for keeping his life neat anymore, because all of his lines have blurred and the boys who mean the world to him are already being thrown head-first into the world no one should ever have to prepare for.

John can only hope that finding the damn demon is worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. Eighty-Five: Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “People already talk about us however they want to,” Jensen says, tries to keep his voice steady even though he’s damn near fuming. “This isn’t a big deal, Jay. Don’t overthink it, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... a vent-y and self-indulgent thing after something that happened on twitter. I can't even remember the details now beyond what's mentioned in the tags of when I posted this originally; just that somebody was going off at Jared for stupid reasons and it made me mad.

“People already talk about us however they want to,” Jensen says, tries to keep his voice steady even though he’s damn near fuming. “This isn’t a big deal, Jay. Don’t overthink it, okay?”

He can see the words aren’t really doing much; Jared looks distressed, pushing his fingers through his hair when he’s not making aborted little half-reaches for his phone. “She said she was disgusted,” he mumbles, and Jensen breathes out slow. “You think- you don’t think that’s what people would do if-?”

“We don’t need to think about that,” Jensen interrupts. Tries to catch Jared’s eyes and grabs for his hands, holding them tight. “Jared, c’mon. People say all kinds of shit. You saw everyone who stepped forward to defend you, right? And you know what?” Waits until they’re making eye contact before continuing, heart twisting with the distress in Jared’s eyes. “You don’t owe her anything. You don’t owe  _anyone_ anything. Forget that ‘cater to your fans’ bullshit, alright? You’re a person, you’re a human being and you don’t owe people like that  _shit.”_

Jared’s quiet for a long moment but doesn’t look away. Eventually leans in towards Jensen a little bit and Jensen takes the hint, releases the other man’s hands in favour of wrapping him up in a tight hug. “I just don’t want to disappoint them,” Jared says quietly, and Jensen pulls him closer.

“It’s not your job to make everyone happy,” he murmurs. “Just focus on making you happy, okay? That’s the only thing you have to do.”

Jared settles down against him and seems to accept it for now. Jensen’s never been one to start anything on social media, but sometimes it’s damn hard to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. Eighty-Six: Boundary-challenged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So… would you call it witchcraft?” The short man’s got his hand on his partner’s thigh, now, and neither of them seem bothered about it.
> 
> Joy stares.
> 
> “Um. Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very silly thing based on the oh-so-appropriate term "boundary-challenged," because... c'mon. Why do they have to stand so close together all the time? 
> 
> Outsider POV and... Wincest? Ish?

Joy still isn’t really sure what she’s done to warrant a visit from the FBI. The men seem nice enough, though, so she does her best to answer their questions. “I mean… Karen was nice. She got along with people, didn’t cause any trouble. Wasn’t she killed in an animal attack?”

She’s busied herself making them some tea, and when she turns back to offer them their cups, she pauses. Blinks a couple times while the taller one replied to her, apparently oblivious to the fact that he’s somehow become all but plastered to his partner’s side, their thighs pressed together on a couch that should allow for several inches of space to exist between them. “She was, but we just want to cover all our bases.”

A slow nod and Joy hands each of them a tea cup. The shorter man accepts his with a quick smile before speaking. “Was there anything else you knew about her? Anything strange, or… different?”

“Well…” Joy pauses to consider that, turning towards a photo of a street party from a couple years ago. Karen was in one of the group photos, tucked against her husband’s side looking happy as ever. “I guess she was interested in some things that were a little odd. Crystals and…” She turned back towards the couch and had to force herself to continue instead of making a comment. “Herbs, and… that sort of thing.”

“So… would you call it witchcraft?” The short man’s got his hand on his partner’s thigh, now, and neither of them seem bothered about it.

Joy stares.

“Um. Maybe.”

“I think that’s all we need to hear for today.” The taller man smiles at her, and both of them stand, keeping that non-existent space between them. Joy nearly expects them to just hold hands on their way out, the way they’re bumping together. “Thank you for your time, ma’am, and call us if you think of anything else.”

Joy nods a little dazedly as the men leave, and is left questioning the sorts of partnerships they’re sending out these days.

“Of all things,” she mumbles, moving to clean up their tea cups, “I’d have thought the FBI wouldn’t be so boundary-challenged.”

Well, as long as they’re doing their jobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. Eighty-Seven: Easter Bunny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s developed a healthy skepticism of the divine at his tender age of fourteen- it’s hard to believe in a higher power after seeing in intimate detail exactly how dark the world is- but if there’s one thing he can get on board with, it’s a holiday devoted to chocolate and small furry animals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not over the fact that Sam apparently believed in the Easter bunny until he was eleven and a half. Obviously Dean had something to do with it and that's just. So important to me. Have some cute Weechesters.

Dean’s developed a healthy skepticism of the divine at his tender age of fourteen- it’s hard to believe in a higher power after seeing in intimate detail exactly how dark the world is- but if there’s one thing he can get on board with, it’s a holiday devoted to chocolate and small furry animals.

Maybe they can’t get a pet bunny what with living on the road (Sam’s tried to convince their dad enough for the both of them), but Sam hasn’t yet grown too old to say no to a trip to the pet store, bright and early Easter morning.

He’s still yawning and rubbing his eyes by the time the little bell over the door announces their arrival, and Dean gently steers him inside, already scoping the place out and finding the right cage to visit. It’s just a small-town pet store, but they’ve got all the basics, and Dean can’t help but grin when he spots a sign for a velveteen rabbit. “You wanna pet the bunny, Sammy?”

There’s an attendant who’s more than happy to help them out, won over by Sam’s wide-eyed amazement within seconds, and soon enough, they’re cuddled up in the corner together, a great big, toasty-brown, floppy-earred bunny in Sam’s lap, nose and whiskers twitching gently, and Sam’s gone complete hearts-for-eyes.

“What’s her name?” he whispers, like he’s afraid of disturbing her, careful fingertips stroking over her ears and down her back. “Does she have a name? Can I give her one?”

“Sure.” Dean hadn’t actually checked, but figure they’re only going to be here for a few minutes, anyways, and it can’t hurt. “What do you wanna name her?”

Sam’s brow furrows in concentration, and he pets the rabbit a few more times, an artist looking for inspiration. “Maybe… Anastasia. ‘Cause she’s really pretty and soft, and she deserves a pretty name.”

It’s enough reasoning for Dean to be convinced, and he reaches over to stroke a couple fingers down her back. “Anastasia it is. You gonna say thank you for all the chocolate she left at home?”

Sam’s eyes go wide like he’s entirely forgotten about that part- all the chocolate he’d hunted down in their tiny motel room before coming here- and nods quickly, leans down as best he can to press a gentle kiss to the top of the rabbit’s head. “Thank you, Anastasia,” he whispers. “You’re a nice bunny.”

Dean smiles soft and watches his little brother talk to his new friend. Soon they’ll have to go home and they’ll spend some time organizing the chocolate eggs by colour and size, and Sam will insist on sharing no matter how much Dean tries to tell him they’re all his. If they’re lucky, Dad will come home early enough to have a nice dinner with them, and another Easter will pass by a success.

Dean’s still too young to get a real job wherever they stop, but ‘Easter Bunny’ is a pretty alright profession, even if it’s just one day a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. Eighty-Eight: Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No way, you still believe in _Santa Claus?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that cute Easter thing from yesterday? Yeah. Um. Sam stopped believing in the Easter Bunny at some point, and... well. It was probably horrible THAT'S ALL I'M SAYING

“No way, you still believe in  _Santa Claus?”_

Sam’s trying to tune out the sound of the boys at the next table ribbing each other, too tired after a night of research to really want to deal with them. They’re playing some kind of truth game and one of them’s just admitted to the fact, though it’s obvious by the sound of his response that the belief is fading quickly.

“C’mon, it’s not that bad!” he insists. Pauses before continuing in a lower voice, like he’s sharing a secret. “Better than believing in the Tooth Fairy, or- or the Easter Bunny or something.”

That’s when Sam goes still, and his sandwich feels too heavy in his hands as he tries to talk himself out of listening in. There’s a sick feeling low in his gut that’s got him hooked, though, and he can’t help but cling to every word that follows.

“As if anyone still believes in that crap,” one of the older boys laughs. “A rabbit than brings chocolate? Fat guy in a red suit makes more sense than that.”

Sam thinks about chocolate eggs hidden in a dozen run-down motel rooms, about the genuine excitement on his brother’s face every Easter morning when he wakes Sam up. About their visits to pet stores and even one petting zoo, the services they sometimes sit in on. Thinks about how much Easter’s been built up in his mind and how much effort Dean always puts into celebrating it.

Comes to a slow, crushing realization and shrinks a little lower in his seat, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. He doesn’t think he can eat anymore.

Part of him wants to give Dean the biggest hug of his life, and part of him wants to break down and cry. What else is being hidden from him? How many secrets do his dad and brother share between them but keep from the family baby?

Easter isn’t for another half a year, but Sam’s already dreading it, and he doesn’t even want to consider how Dean will react.

It almost feels like it’d be easier to keep this to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. Eighty-Nine: Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can’t remember the last time they made it this far north. They don’t often cross the border into Canada, but once they’re on something’s trail, it’ll take more than that to stop them from chasing it down. They’ve wrapped up the case, though, and Sam’s the one who’s insisted on this excursion, damn naturalist that he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started off with me wanting to do a thing with the northern lights, but ended up mostly as brotherly stargazing. Mostly inspired by a trip I took over the March break.

Dean can’t remember the last time they made it this far north. They don’t often cross the border into Canada, but once they’re on something’s trail, it’ll take more than that to stop them from chasing it down. They’ve wrapped up the case, though, and Sam’s the one who’s insisted on this excursion, damn naturalist that he is.

“If I lose my toes, it’s on you,” Dean grumbles, hunching in on himself a little more as if it’ll do a damn thing to warm him up. He’s all huddled up in more layers of clothing than he cares to count, sitting deep in an adirondack chair that’d been sitting at the summit of this little outcropping, pristine and looking out onto the lake below with its twin. “You sure we can’t get a fire going?”

“It’ll ruin the view,” Sam says for probably the dozenth time since they’ve gotten here. The sun’s just about done setting, the final swaths of warm pastels fading into violets and indigos. Despite the warmer colours, the air is crisp, a nippy twenty degrees that has Dean wishing he’d stayed home. “No point coming all the way up here if we don’t get the view. Trust me.”

Dean grumbles something about wishing he hadn’t decided to put his faith in his little brother this time around, but just snuggles deeper into the scarf he’d got wrapped around half his head and waits. They’ve made it this far, and he’s not keen on making the hike back through icy rocks and snow-slicked landscape by himself, especially not now that it’s dark. Might as well wait this out and see what Sam’s all worked up about.

It takes some time for him to take notice, especially when he dedicates a few minutes to warming himself up with the thermos of soup Sam had packed them, but his attention is drawn with Sam’s slow exhale, and the movement he makes to point up at the sky. “Here we go.”

When Dean follows the movement up, he stops breathing for a moment, needs the time to drink in the sight before him. The stars are already starting to come out, some twinkling bright while fainter hints of light fill in the spaces in between. The longer he looks and the more his eyes adjust, the more he feels like he’s discovering- like every celestial body, every star of every galaxy is laid out before his eyes, vanishing when he blinks only to reappear every time he opens his eyes.

“Told you,” Sam whispers, and he sounds like a little kid again. Like he’s found something worth being excited over. “Told you it was worth it.”

He says something about isolation and light pollution and a clear sky, but Dean’s drifting, his eyes connecting the patterns in the stars above them, and before he realizes it, he’s speaking, cutting Sam off gently. “There’s Orion’s belt. Right there.”

Points it out and watches as Sam follows, breathes out soft. Fumbles for Dean’s hand in the dark and squeezes it as best he can with the gloves they’re both wearing. “Some people call it the Three Kings. Real bright, huh?”

Dean smiles a little bit and squeezes Sam’s hand and thinks that hey, yeah- maybe this  _is_ worth it, sub-zero temperatures and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	30. Ninety: Hovering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is hovering. 
> 
> Sam pretends not to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Red Meat cuddling. Brother stuff. Wincest-adjacent? H/C and just. soft.

Dean is hovering. 

Sam pretends not to notice.

They’ve both been a little wound up after the case that nearly got the both of them killed- a damn  _werewolf_ hunt, of all things; should’ve been textbook open and shut- and it’s a quiet agreement between them that results in a couple days off to recuperate and heal up. He’s stopped limping, and Dean’s got all the colour back in his complexion, and they’re gonna be alright, just like they always are.

Dean doesn’t seem entirely convinced of the fact, though, and Sam wonders if he should be worried.

It seems that every time he moves to leave a room, his brother is right on his tail. Follows him to the kitchen, the living room, the library- damn near walked right into the bathroom behind him before he realized what he was doing. Sam’s more amused than anything else, but when Dean walks into his room with him for the third night in a row, ready for bed, he decides it can’t hurt to ask.

He waits until they’re both settled, Dean curled up against his chest determinedly, cheek resting over his heart. He’s careful around the stitches like he always is, and Sam just watches him. Wonders what’s going through his head. “Dad always said that you’d never let me out of your sight when we were little.”

Dean stills for a moment, fingertips hovering over the bandages a moment before he sets them down gently. “Didn’t want you gettin’ into any trouble.” He closes his eyes but doesn’t move, hand splayed out on Sam’s stomach like he’s intent on making it heal faster. “You were a rowdy kid.”

Sam’s mostly sure that’s a lie, but he lets it go for now. Softens his voice when he speaks again. “I don’t think you ever really stopped.”

For a minute or two, he almost thinks that Dean has fallen asleep. His brother doesn’t say anything, breathing soft and even, and when he replies, it’s almost inaudible, mumbled into Sam’s skin. “Last time I left you alone somewhere,” he says, “some psycho Othello-wannabe just about killed you.”

Sam breathes out slow and pulls Dean that fraction of an inch closer. Thinks about how close he came to bleeding out in that stupid cabin, cold and scared and alone, and closes his eyes. “The psycho werewolf-wannabe did most of his job for him.”

A soft breath that’s almost a laugh and Dean presses in gently, nose brushing Sam’s skin. “I don’t care whose fault it is.” Goes serious again as he continues. “Point is, I left, your heart damn near stopped beating. M’not going anywhere now that I’ve got you back all in one piece.”

“This time.”

“Don’t jinx it.” Dean snorts and snuggles closer, burrows against Sam’s side. “Shut up and sleep. You need the rest, kiddo.”

It’s almost comforting to just be Dean’s little brother in that moment, and Sam nods, letting out a slow breath as he allows himself to relax. Tries to remember that they’re safe now, together and home and as healthy as they ever are.

It’s more than enough for now, and if Dean needs to cling for a few days to feel okay about everything, Sam figures he can live with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	31. Ninety-One: Nightlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean knows he doesn’t have time for this. They need to move, to put some distance between them and the hostile werewolves approaching, but he’s gone numb to everything that isn’t his little brother dead on the floor, all but deaf to Corbin’s insistence that they leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Red Meat thing. The little lamp that was beside Sam when he woke up ;-;

Dean knows he doesn’t have time for this. They need to move, to put some distance between them and the hostile werewolves approaching, but he’s gone numb to everything that isn’t his little brother dead on the floor, all but deaf to Corbin’s insistence that they leave.

He considers, all over again, making them go on their own. Lingering behind to stay with Sam. Knows they won’t make it without him and hates that he knows what Sam would want.

His eyes drift to the lamp a few feet from his brother’s body, and he swallows hard.

Sam used to be scared of the dark. When he was little, he couldn’t sleep without Dean’s arms around him and a nightlight in the room, and even into his teenage years, the fear seemed to linger. Dean knows for a fact that he didn’t turn the lights off for months after his wall was broken, visions of Lucifer and the Cage already messing him up bad enough without the darkness pressing in on him, too.

Dean has to leave his baby brother behind for some vague illusion of the greater good, but he’s not going to let Sam be frightened.

He crouches down enough to move the lamp closer, leaving it a few inches from Sam’s hand where it lays at his side. Makes sure it’s got plenty of fuel and manages a tiny smile, playing like he can breathe around the lump in his throat.

“I’m gonna come back for you, okay?” Fights not to let his voice break because he needs to be strong for the both of them. “I promise.”

It still feels like leaving behind half of his soul, like walking away from every reason he’s ever had to be alive, but at least with the little flame protecting him, Sammy won’t be scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
